A Shot at Redemption
by ZilchNil
Summary: July 5th, 1989; the day Harry James Potter lost his hold on life. So, why then, does the world not mourn? And who exactly has come to Hogwarts in his stead? Rating is for language and adult situations. I own nothing.


Striking, emerald-green eyes surveyed the industrial landscape before him, carefully taking note of the more influential families casually mulling about while simultaneously cataloging their familiar interactions for later observation.

It was a habit of his, one of the few positive characteristics that had bled over into his being; he was always aware, always watching.

Most of that time, he was observing other's actions; pinpointing their weaknesses to better attack them, to humiliate them. It was only on very rare occasions that he looked for strengths, and then it was only to understand how they could better serve.

Now though, he was just casually observing, picking out things most others would never even know were there.

Take, for instance, the Malfoys.

Draco - if he remembered correctly - who was either a first or second year, was positioned between Lucius and his mother. To the outside observer the family of three would seem perfectly fine; the mother and father proud, and the boy excited and confident to be heading off to school.

To him, they were anything but.

First, the boy was positioned much closer to his mother than father, his left hand occasionally twitching as if he were about to grasp her larger one. He was nervous.

The father was proud, arrogant even, but there was a distinct coldness to him in the way he never once glanced at his son or wife, or how he remained a half step ahead; signifying his dominance. The boy wasn't his son, but his heir; something to be groomed and by which the world would remember him. The wife? A trophy.

Narcissa, on the other hand, was everything her husband was not; she was caring, compassionate, and loved the boy. That much he easily gathered by the affection in her eyes. The boy was her pride and joy; her world.

The cold veneer she wore was not but a mask as she too fought the urge to take the boy's hand.

Their brief goodbyes said even more about them.

There was love, and care, and everything one would expect between the woman and child that was noticeably absent when the boy looked up at his father. There was a longing for acceptance from the boy and a definite respect, and a small amount of fear. But, little affection.

Conclusion? Draco Malfoy had daddy issues.

He moved on from the blonde trio to scan the rest of the crowd, his mind wandering back to his brief, but informative, foray into the Wizarding World a few short weeks ago.

It was amazing really, just how little his beloved society had changed since he, himself, had been a first year boarding the crimson steam engine half a century ago. Diagon Alley had been essentially the same as he remembered it, and though he hadn't been able to get a glimpse of Knockturn, he highly expected it to have remained unchanged for the most part. In fact, the only thing that had seemed to have changed were the people. Not their ways of life, or ideals, or their mannerisms, just their faces.

_Sheep_, his mind supplied. Products of a system designed to instill fear and keep them complacent. A system he had previously manipulated to sow the seeds of fear and doubt on his rise to power and, hopefully, he could do so again. Only with a lot less blood shed this time.

The conductor gave a sharp blast of the whistle, signifying one last call for boarding just as a gaggle of red heads burst through the barrier. It took only a brief glance in their direction to identify the large family; the Weasleys.

Even during his time the family was notorious for being considerably larger than most and their uncanny ability to persevere through the most troublesome of times.

Seemed as if the past decade had done little to change that.

The boy - Thomas, as he called himself - turned his attention away from the window and back to the large, leather-bound tome spread across his lap. _Confronting the Faceless_ was it's title; a NEWT preparatory text that focused heavily on Dementors, Lethifolds, Inferni, and the Imperius and Cruciatus Curses. While the information on those subjects was surprisingly detailed and informative, it held little to no value for him considering his past. No, he had picked up the book solely for its section on combating Dementors; the Patronus Charm. A useful bit of magic he had never been able to produce in his past life and, though, he didn't have the required power to fuel the spell at the moment, he was determined to master it.

The required text for first years, _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_, was another delightful surprise in the long line of excellent introductory magical spell books he had picked up last month. It seemed, despite the numerous failings of magical society, Hogwarts had remained up to par.

It was odd really, for him to be going back to school. For _him_, one of, if not the, greatest magical intellectuals to be born within the past century, to be returning to grade school and yet, a part of him, the _other_ part, was excited at the opportunity.

He would have laughed at his own hypocrisy but he had never been one for self-deprecation.

Shaking himself from his musings, he returned to the words before him. Only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. Sighing in frustration, he clasped the book shut, setting it aside - it was evident he wouldn't be permitted to read for some time.

"It's open," he called, removing the slight slouch from his posture and running a hand down the front of his casual robes; first impressions were everything in the magical world.

Hesitantly, the door was pushed aside, a slightly pudgy boy with ear-length, brown hair taking its place as he stepped forward. _First year_, Thomas' mind supplied, instantly picking out the obvious tells.

"I'm sorry," the boy offered immediately out of nervousness. "May I sit with you? Everywhere else has been full."

Thomas expected the boy to have been rebuked a number of times by now, based on his previous statement; '_has been full_' rather than '_is full_' or something else that held certainty.

"Please," he allowed, sweeping his arm to indicate the empty cabin, even going so far as to help the boy stow away his trunk.

"Thanks," the still to be introduced boy appreciated before offering his hand in a friendly manner. "I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."

Immediately, the name registered; Neville Longbottom, one of two candidates concerning a prophecy that had led to his current situation. Son of Frank and Alice Longbottom, both residents of the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. They were there because of him, perhaps not by his direct hand, but as a consequence of his actions and mistakes.

Yet another boy he had robbed of a childhood.

He may have only re-immersed himself back into the Wizarding World five brief weeks ago, but he had not been idle, using the time wisely to resolve his lack of information; researching and studying the past ten years that he had been absent. He had used old newspaper articles, new historical and academic publications, and a reluctant, bumbling - but friendly - half-giant to graciously fill the voids of his ignorance.

It wasn't perfect or whole, but it was adequate for the time being.

He easily accepted the handshake. "Tho-" he quickly masked his blunder with a quiet cough. Even after two years of being he still had problems concerning his identity. "Harry Potter," he corrected. "but my friends call me HJ." _Not really_. There wasn't anyone in his life that he would consider a friend, but he refused to be called Harry. _That_ name belong to the boy he had murdered, he would not dishonor his memory by wielding his name.

Plus, _Thomas_ would only rouse unwanted questions.

As expected, the Longbottom heir gaped at him, his gaze flickering up to the famous thin, white scar he hadn't bothered to conceal, but Thomas was pleased to note his reaction was much more subdued, much more respectful, that those meandering old fools he'd had the unpleasant privilege of being introduced to in The Leaky Cauldron.

There wasn't an exclaim of reverence or a mad rush to _touch_ some portion of his person; whether it be to shake his hand, clap him on the back, or to _tousle_ his hair. Perhaps it was because the boy was of a similar age - a _very_ similar age - and was shy because of it, or mayhap Thomas had disrupted the action by clasping his hand and introducing himself - fulfilling the distasteful need.

Either way, the situation would need to be examined further. He held no desire to be accosted and touched by strangers - a mutual feeling both he and Harry had held.

"Wow." Neville whispered after a moment before blushing and averting his eyes. "Sorry... it's just... well, you're famous."

Thomas bared his teeth in what passed as a smile, though the action held no pleasantness. "Yes," he agreed, his tone a mite clipped. "I had noticed."

Neville skirted away from him, further embarrassed by his response.

He exhaled a breath, chastising himself for already alienating the boy he had been most interested to meet. "Forgive me," he apologized. "I was only reintroduced into the magical world a few short weeks ago, the response I garnered while shopping was most displeasing. I am afraid I am still rather put-off by it."

"S'alright," the boy mumbled, still refusing to look up.

Thomas dipped his head. "No, it isn't," he said firmly, gaining the boy's attention. "but I thank you for your acceptance."

Neville smiled this time; it was weak, more of a testing the waters type, but a smile nonetheless that Thomas returned.

"So," the other boy began after an uncomfortable moment. "You've been living in the Muggle world?" He asked.

Thomas nodded, curious as to where this was going. He was positive Augusta Longbottom would never allow bigotry in her home.

"Are you, um... that is to say, do you need help understanding anything?" He questioned. "Of the magical world, I mean." He hastily added.

_How... thoughtful._

He patted the small stack of books by his side - along with his Defense text, the small stack consisted of _Discovering Your Inner Animal: A Complete Guide to the Animagus Process_, _Combating the Elements_, and _Wizardry_; the latest in a long running series of journals examining the Wizarding World of politics. "I have read a great deal about most things." He answered.

"Oh..."

"But," he added at the boy's downtrodden look. "If I have any questions, I'll be sure to discuss them with you."

Neville perked up, a pleased grin spreading across his face. It seemed young Neville and Harry had yet another trait in common; friends, or the lack thereof.

"So, you know about the houses, yeah?" The boy pressed, seeming to be much more at ease. At his nod he continued. "Which one do you think you'll be going to?"

"Hmm," HJ - Thomas - hummed thoughtfully. "I don't rightly know. From what I've read, I exhibit traits from all four houses. To be honest, I don't mind where I end up; I'll make the most of the situation where ever I go."

"Really?" Neville looked dumbstruck, unable to comprehend that someone wouldn't have a preference for one house or another. "What about Slytherin?"

Thomas mentally cringed, he had done wonders in his past life to destroy the reputation of his famed house and ancestor. "There have been great witches and wizards from every house at Hogwarts, as well as bad." He offered diplomatically. "The house doesn't define the wizard, his own actions do."

Neville nodded slowly in understanding before his brow scrunched in thought. "Like who?" he asked.

Thomas jumped at the opportunity, immediately falling into lecture mode. "There was Merlin himself, most people tend to ignore the fact that he attended Hogwarts' inaugural year and studied under Salazar Slytherin himself. Elizabeth Burke, the first ever Headmistress of Hogwarts, or Damon Gosforth, whose extensive research on Dementors led to the creation of the Patronus Charm."

"Oh," Neville was definitely intrigued now. "What about the other houses?"

Thomas smiled. "Let's see," he drummed his fingers in thought. "Albus Dumbledore was a Gryffindor, as well as your great ancestor, Harfang Longbottom, an Order of Merlin recipient for his efforts in combating the Great Fire of 1666." Neville looked pleased that he knew of his many times great-grandfather. "For Ravenclaw; Ignatia Wildsmith, credited with the creation of the Floo Network and Garrick Ollivander, the famous wandmaker, and Hufflepuff was home to Hengist of Woodcroft, the founder of Hogsmeade, Newton Scamander, and Alastor Moody." He paused for breath. "And that's not to mention that every Headmaster and Minister of Magic once walked the halls of Hogwarts at one point of their life."

Neville looked at him in wonder. "How do you _remember_ all that?"

Thomas tapped his pile of books before repeating the gesture to his temple. "I have a near eidetic memory." At Neville's confusion he explained, "I have the ability to recall just about everything I read or witness."

"Oh... that's useful." Neville offered, unsure of what to say.

"Very," Thomas agreed. While it wasn't the literal truth - he wasn't about to reveal his proficiency in Occlumency - it was accurate enough to direct attention away from his actual secrets.

"How about yourself?" HJ directed when it became apparent Neville wasn't about to willingly discuss himself.

"Um... my gran wants me to be a Gryffindor like my dad, but I just don't think I have what it takes." He paused for a moment, seemingly nervous to continue. "I... I've always liked plants, though..." he trailed off, looking to HJ for his reaction.

"Yeah?" Thomas - HJ - prompted.

Neville looked relieved, smiling in response. "Yeah, and Madam Sprout - she's the Herbology Professor - is Head of Hufflepuff. So, I think I'd like to go there."

Thomas nodded his head, choosing to not offer any words for the boy; in another life he would have ridiculed the boy for aspiring to be a Hufflepuff, but now, thanks to Harry, he was able to see the greatness of every house.

The boys were jostled as the train lurched forward, beginning it's eight hour trek from London to the Scottish hills and Hogwarts Castle. Much too quick to be considered normal, the train picked up speed, houses flashing by in a blur.

The boys would have lapsed into silence - Neville had withdrawn a copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ - but another knock sounded on the compartment door.

Whoever it was didn't wait to be acknowledged or for permission, promptly sliding the door open and barely stepping into the compartment.

It was a girl - another first year most likely - with bushy, brown hair and soft, chocolate eyes. "May I sit here?" She asked, indicating the vacant seat next to Neville.

Neville gave a half shrug, looking away shyly.

She then turned to Thomas, eyeing him defiantly, silently challenging him to say no.

_Perhaps not a first year then?_

He nodded instead. "Help yourself."

She smiled timidly in thanks - revealing slightly too large front teeth - dragging her trunk in behind her. Once again, Thomas assisted in stowing away her trunk before providing introductions.

Only to be cut off as Neville lunged for the girl, hands outstretched as if to strangle her. The girl in question shrieked, startled and stumbled backwards, her arms flying up as if to defend herself.

"Trevor," Neville cried, falling well short of the girl and to the floor on his hands and knees, scrambling about.

It was then that Thomas spotted the elusive Trevor; a toad.

He was by the still ajar door, partially obscured by the girls feet, hopping his way to freedom. Just as his legs wound, readying himself for one last lunge that would send him over the threshold and into the hallway beyond, Thomas snapped his wrist, his wand appearing in hand.

He flicked his hand, his lips mouthing the words _'Petrificus Totalus'_ though no sound accompanied the incantation. A brief, white light bloomed from the tip of his wand before diminishing.

Trevor was left frozen in mid-leap, falling to the ground motionless save for his bulging eyes.

"Trevor!" The boy exclaimed again, scooping the toad into his hands and holding him to his chest protectively. He turned worried eyes toward Thomas. "You didn't hurt him did you?"

Thomas thought about leveling him with a glare for asking such a question before deciding against it; the boy had already shown he was beyond timid. "Of course not," he assured instead.

"Then... then what did you do?" He asked, worried.

"The Full Body Bind Curse," it wasn't Thomas who answered. "As its name implies, the target is left fully paralyzed but still conscious." The newest addition to their cabin explained. "Though, its duration depends on the strength of the caster as well as that of the target."

"You'll find it in chapter two of your text." Thomas provided, to which the girl nodded. At Neville's still worried look, he continued. "It's perfectly harmless, I assure you. The effects will wear off in about ten minutes."

Silence descended upon the three and Thomas was just about to resume his introductions before the girl spoke.

"Are you first years as well?" she asked, having gleamed as much from earlier, pausing briefly as if expecting an answer. "I am as well, I've even tried a few simple spells for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard - I've learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough - I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

"I'm Neville Longbottom," Neville muttered.

"Harry Potter," Thomas offered curtly. "But, please, call me HJ."

"Are you really?" Hermione rhetorically asked. "I know all about you, of course - I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History,_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I?" Thomas asked, amused and mildly surprised; the girl hadn't even glanced at his famous scar.

He, of course, knew that he - or rather, Harry Potter - was, having read the books himself.

"Goodness, didn't you know, I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," said Hermione, oblivious to his rhetoric. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad..."

Thomas was... irritatingly amused with the girls antics, her ability to ramble. He couldn't help but smile as he answered her question.

"I, myself, have no inclination toward any one house, whereas Neville here, is torn between family allegiance and his own aspirations."

She easily accepted his answer - _definitely Muggleborn_ - and turned questioning eyes onto Neville. The boy then stuttered and stumbled his way through the same explanation he had provided earlier, though this attempt took nearly twice the amount of time.

It seemed the boy was even more awkward around girls but, in truth, what pubescent boy wasn't?

With Neville's bumbling answer out of the way, the girl - Hermione - turned her inquisitive, brown eyes toward Thomas and the book he had returned his attention to.

"What are you reading?" She asked, almost tittering with excitement.

Thomas resisted the urge to sigh in frustration, holding the book up for her inspection.

"_Confronting the Faceless_," she read, the space between her brow scrunched in thought. "That's not on our required list."

"No," he agreed.

"Oh," She frowned, before the expression melted into one of intense interest. "What's it about?"

"Immensely dangerous creatures found in the Wizarding World," Thomas replied dryly. "and how to protect yourself from them."

"Oh... is it good?" She asked, genuinely interested.

"It is informative." He answered neutrally.

She suddenly looked nervous, dipping her head to look at him through her lashes. "C-Could I-" she seemed to gather her resolve, raising her eyes to meet him. "May I borrow it after you are finished?"

Thomas studied the girl for a moment, contemplating his answer.

There was no doubt Granger was an academic, perhaps even to the same level of enthusiasm as Thomas himself. The true question was whether or not he could trust her.

The book was relegated to older, more mature students, for a reason; a majority of the material would be considered too... detailed for younger children in the form of eye-witness accounts and even animated photographs of memories.

Pushing that aside, if she were to inform someone, whether that be Dumbledore himself or her future Head of House, that he was in possession of such a book, it would cause unwanted attention to be directed his way.

Still not quite certain - and even more unsure of why he wasn't outright refusing her - Thomas decided to send a light mental probe her way, just strong enough to penetrate her outermost thoughts.

She was nervous and genuinely just wanted to read the text for the information it retained. There was also a continued fleeting thought discerning friends, but the thought and the emotion accompanying it were so ephemeral that he wasn't able to decipher her musing.

Against his own instinct, Thomas could find no fault to deny her.

"It is not an... entertaining read," he warned.

She didn't hesitate with her response. "I would still like to read it."

"It will take some time for me to finish," he explained briefly. "But afterwards, you may borrow the book if you like."

The brilliant smile she sent him in response was enough to make Thomas feel as if he had made the correct decision.

The three then lapsed into silence, Hermione retrieving a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, Neville resuming the peruse of his weekly, and Thomas once more delving into the concepts behind the Patronus Charm...

_'This ancient and mysterious charm conjures a magical guardian, a projection of your own innermost positive feelings. The Patronus Charm, Latin for protector or guardian, is an extremely difficult piece of magic, and many witches and wizards are unable to produce a full, corporeal Patronus, a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal with whom the caster shares the deepest affinity. You may suspect, but you will never truly know what form your Patronus will take until you succeed in conjuring it._

_The Patronus Charm (incantation Expecto Patronum) is one of the most famous and most powerful defensive charms known to Wizardkind. It is an immensely complicated, very intricate spell that evokes a partially-tangible positive energy force known as the Patronus or spirit guardian. The charm was primarily designed for defense against Dementors and Lethifolds by __Damon Gosforth in 1154__, against which there is no other known protection._

_However, in 1977, Albus Dumbledore, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts and famed defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, discovered a means of communication using the Patronus Charm. Unfortunately, this author is unable to describe the manner by which this was achieved due to current Magical Patents held by Headmaster Dumbledore.'_

Thomas would have continued reading, but there came another interruption in the form of someone barging into his compartment.

_Was this what being famous entailed? _

Three boys entered, the center being a pale, blonde boy of similar height and age with two looming gorilla-like boys flanking his side. Thomas recognized the middle one at once; _Draco Malfoy_. His sole interest seemed to be directed at Thomas - or rather Harry Potter - while he seemed content to ignore the other two occupants.

"Is it true?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as no doubt Lucius had instructed him how. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," replied Thomas, only mildly curious about how exactly word got out, sparing the two tagalongs a cursory glance. _Crabbe and Goyle Junior, no doubt_ - though he would be hard pressed to identify them separately. Both of them were thickset, like their fathers, with a minimum amount of neck and dumb, menacing looks plastered on their wide faces.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," Malfoy introduced needlessly, having followed his gaze. Though, he too, failed to specify which was which. "And the name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

From behind her book, Hermione gave a slight cough, a failed attempt to hide her quiet snigger. Malfoy twisted sharply to pin her with a glare.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" he demanded. "No need to ask who you are. You reek of _Muggle_," he sneered. "Nose shoved in a book, dreadful clothing, and most likely a brown nose as well."

The girl quickly hid back behind her book, but not before Thomas made out the beginnings of tears.

Malfoy turned back to Thomas, a superior smirk on his lips. "You'll soon find out some Wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand for Thomas to shake. Thomas stared coolly at the offered hand before glancing back up at the boy himself, mentally smirking as a plan formed.

"Harry Potter," he introduced, not bothering to accept the boy's hand. He nodded toward Neville. "I'm sure you know Neville Longbottom, Heir to House Longbottom." Draco nodded respectfully; the Malfoys may not like the Longbottoms, but their status as an Ancient and Most Noble House garnered their respect.

"And this," he waved his arm toward the girl in the corner. "Is Hermione Granger; a friend."

Opposite him, Hermione discretely peeked over her book, her eyes slightly irritated and wide in wonder.

Predictably, Draco balked, his pale cheeks flushing a faint pink; by declaring Hermione a friend, Malfoy had essentially insulted Thomas - or rather Harry - and broken Pureblood custom. Pureblood Harry may not be, but House Potter was still an Ancient and Most Noble House - the 'Most' had actually been tacked on after the fall of the Dark Lord.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," Malfoy said threateningly after taking a moment to compose himself. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents." Now _that_, Thomas couldn't ignore. "They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like Mudbloods and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

That would have angered Thomas when he was Riddle, add in Harry's own respect and love for his parents and the boy was beyond pissed.

Even Neville, who had appeared cowardly and timid thus far, appeared upset and angry on his behalf.

An... unfortunate aspect of Thomas' being was that both Harry and Tom were quick to anger and prone to reacting vehemently in that anger. Naturally, Thomas was no different.

"You know," Thomas growled, his hackles rising to new heights the longer he simmered. "My mother was Muggleborn."

The simple statement, a seemingly innocent tidbit of information, was wrought with warning and veiled promises of future pain.

In the face of Thomas' blazing anger, Draco didn't seem too sure of himself at the moment, shuffling a half step backwards.

Thomas had stood, his back rigid and shoulders tense, his mind desperately warring with itself attempting to rationalize the situation.

One part of him knew the boy was just reciprocating what he had heard, and truly didn't understand exactly what he was saying in the same way small children often misinterpret the meaning behind certain words. That part of his being was trying - and failing - to convince him not to harm the blonde.

The other part; the part that was most decidedly _Him_, had already planned several avenues for recompense, all of those ending in humiliation and most often with blood and tears - one does not simply insult the Heir of Slytherin.

He sneered at the three boys in front of him, offering no words of warning before he opted for one of the less... drastic course of actions he had preconceived.

Not allowing time for the boys to react, Thomas drew his wand and threw his arm out, twisting his wrist sharply to the left as he did. "Flipendo," he spoke confidently, his wand leveled at the center of Malfoy's chest.

He had made sure to weaken the spell, only causing Malfoy to stumble backwards until he was perfectly framed by the doorway.

He allow his movements to flow naturally, following the twist of his wrist into a sweeping diagonal motion toward his left hip. "Everte Statum," he intoned, completing the correct wand movements by dragging his arm perfectly vertical and just to his right, coming to rest on Croyle Number One.

The larger boy stumbled as well as the faint amber spell connected with his sternum, causing him to fall backwards into the blonde aristocrat.

He finished the simple spell chain by continuing his sweep to the right, targeting the last of the trio. He jabbed his wand forward, his unoccupied hand rising to add secondary strength by funneling additional magic into his spell. "Depulso," he snapped crisply, aiming for the large boy's center of mass.

Croyle Number Two let out an 'Omph' as the charm collided with him, forcefully propelling him into his two comrades and consequently shoving the three of them out into the hall. The collision started a domino effect, where Malfoy lost his balance and fell, effectively tripping the other two. They proceeded to topple over, the two larger boys flattening the smaller.

Thomas didn't spare them a glance, flicking his wand at the door, causing it to slide shut with a satisfying snap. He retook his seat, his wand disappearing to somewhere on his person as he retrieved his text and pick up where he left off.

Overall, the trio of boys were let off easy.

Silence prevailed for the three first years still remaining within the compartment, Thomas staring intently at the pages before him, unable to comprehend the words while his anger still simmered. Hermione - Neville as well - stared at him in astonishment, the Longbottom Heir's mouth was actually open.

"Wow," It was Neville who broke the silence.

The boy was looking at him in awe, and Thomas couldn't help the small amount of pride which swept over him; it was the Harry aspect of his being.

Technically, Thomas was over sixty years old, and had been heaped upon with numerous amounts of both praise and condemnation, but _Harry_ had always been deprived of positive attention, so much so that the smallest amount seemed significant in his eyes. The effect, to a minor degree, had bled over.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Hermione questioned, averting his attention from the reddening Neville.

He once again tapped his pile of books, reiterating the explanation he had given Neville a few hours prior.

Unlike Neville, the Muggleborn girl realized the full extent of his ability of perfect recall and the prospects one could gain from such a skill. At the very least, she had found someone capable of carrying an intelligent conversation with.

Amazingly, the remainder of the journey passed with minimum interruptions, with each of the three first years immersed in the worlds depicted by the texts before them, only breaking when the words became mind-numbingly tedious to share quiet, respectful conversations with each other and as the trolley lady made her usual rounds.

Hermione had left some minutes ago, her anxiousness warring with her excitement, to search out the Express' conductor, no doubt to grill him about their imminent arrival.

Thomas looked up as she barged back in, slightly flustered and with a smile etched upon her face. "You better hurry up and put your robes on," she beamed, uncharacteristically happy. "He says we're nearly there."

The Muggleborn girl had saw fit to take her robes with her, using the loo to change into them along the way, so only Thomas and Neville were still in what would be considered casual clothing.

Thomas clasped his book close, a simple color changing charm marking the page, as he stood, retrieving his crestless robes from the trunk stored above to exchange them for the ones he had on. Luckily, both of the first year boys had chosen to wear their black slacks and button up shirts - the standard Hogwarts uniform - and all that remained was their protective outer cloaks and ties.

Just as Thomas pulled on his cloak, fastening the metal clasp to secure it, the voice of the conductor echoed throughout the train, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Beside him, Neville rapidly paled, his hands twisting together in nervousness. Hermione, however, was near to bouncing on her feet, excitement coursing through her veins at the prospect of finally reaching Hogwarts. The trio quickly stowed away the rest of their belongings - Neville triple-checking to make sure Trevor was where he left him - before pushing their way into the hallway, joining the crowd gathering in the corridor.

The train finally came to a stop, metal screeching against metal as the brakes were applied. As one, the crowd seemed to surge forward, eager to be rid of the confining quarters of the train.

Thomas found himself on a tiny, dark platform, situated on the outskirts of the Wizarding village of Hogsmead, wedged between a Slytherin Prefect and his two acquaintances from the ride. He felt the ambient energy of the strictly magical settlement wash over him, much like it had in Diagon, causing a shiver of pure pleasure to run along his spine. Anticipation twisted and knotted within his stomach, filling him with a sort of nervous energy.

_Home._

Hogwarts had always been his home, he had told Harry as much, and it would continue to be so until the day he died.

It was Hogwarts, as much as the old man, that had stayed _His_ hand during the war. While many believed he feared Dumbledore, it was not so. He respected him, yes, but the only thing Voldemort had ever truly feared was death; for his strength to be taken from him.

Many had been convinced that he was a being without emotion, save for hate and anger and greed, but until his dying day, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord Voldemort, had housed the dying embers of compassion for life, for magic its self.

He had murdered women, children, and men with no remorse; they were obstacles in his path, lesser creatures to be struck down before him, but _Hogwarts _had given him his strength, granted him a purpose to strive toward, and he would never violate the sanctity of her walls or the refuge she offered in return to the thousands of young witches and wizards.

It had been his one redeeming quality; even so, it was still twisted and warped by the beliefs of a madman.

A lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, jarring Thomas from his introspective, a familiar voice booming out above the hustle and bustle of the station, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" It was Hagrid, the giant - or rather half-giant - of a man that had escorted Thomas to and from Diagon Alley.

"All right there, HJ?" He called, waving a ridiculously large hand in his direction, his face the picture of excitement over the sea of students.

Thomas was conflicted over Hagrid; the man was, without a doubt, a staunch supporter of Dumbledore, to the extent of becoming blind to the man's many faults, but, in his previous life, Thomas had hurt Hagrid, his own actions pushing the man into the Headmaster's awaiting arms.

Yet, the man had also been genuinely friendly with him, answering his questions without hesitation despite the difficult nature of many of them. Thomas owed the man, that much was certain, he just wasn't certain how to feel about the half-giant.

Nonetheless, he returned the man's wave.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

Thomas cringed, he had all but purposefully forgotten the man's ability to butcher the English language.

Slipping and stumbling, Thomas and the other soon-to-be first years followed after the grounds keeper, disappearing down a steep, narrow path winding its way through a copse of trees. The sun had long since fallen, with the only light to illuminate the pathway coming from Hagrid's lantern causing the cumbersome footing to be even more difficult to traverse.

Thomas was near the middle of the crowd, his shoulders occasionally brushing against those of Hermione and Neville. Nearly all of the children were silent, with occasional quiet conversations popping up before dying out just as quickly.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, breaking the silence of the night. "Jus' round this bend here."

Thomas' heart thundered in his chest, his breathing becoming more ragged as the students around him took one collective breath of amazement.

The dark, narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of the Black Lake. Perched atop the high bank on the opposite side, its windows winking brilliantly against the black sky, was Hogwarts castle, its many turrets and towers appearing to reach toward the stars.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, drawing their attention toward a fleet of diminutive boats resting in the water by the shore. Thomas, along with Neville and Hermione, secured a boat for themselves, another smaller girl with brown hair who didn't bother to introduce herself, still too mesmerized by the vast castle to care, rounded out their party.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had taken a boat for himself, "Right then – FORWARD!"

The small fleet of boats responded to his call, gliding forward as one under the effect of a propulsion charm, sliding across the surface of the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, still entranced by the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

Thomas knew the instant they passed under the wards of Hogwarts; a warm, pleasant tingle washed over his entire being, feeling him with a sense of contentedness he hadn't been privy to for many years.

"Heads down!" Warned Hagrid as the first of the boats reached the cliff; they all dutifully bent their heads as the boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which took them straight into the heart of Hogwarts, until they reached a natural under-ground harbor, where they quickly shimmied out onto the rocks.

Then they clambered out of the self-propelling boats and up a passageway carved into the rock, a jittery excitement sweeping over the group, following along behind Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last on to the damp grass in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, intricate, oak door.

"Everyone here?" Hagrid asked, and after receiving mumbled agreement from most everyone, he raised a gigantic fist and slammed it three times on the castle door in what equated a knock for the half-giant.

* * *

Author's Note:

Just wanted to warn you that the updates for this story will be very sporadic, as my primary concern is for my other fic. That said, I actually have a considerable portion - around four thousand words - of chapter two already completed. So, the second chapter should be posted considerably quicker than what will be 'normal'.

Anyway, this was just an idea that wouldn't let go until I put pen to- er... fingers to keyboard. So, let me know what you think.

As always, thanks for reading.


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